


a bridge, and not an end

by StarryCleric



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, things are bad but then they get better, yasha needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryCleric/pseuds/StarryCleric
Summary: Obann grabs her chin and forces her to look where he's pointing. "Did you do this?"Yasha makes out the slumped shape of the many-mouthed creature collapsed alongside a rotting grey log. She doesn't know what Obann is referring to, or why the Mouth is so limp and lifeless, but the storm rumbles approvingly in her chest, so she smiles.--After so long trapped in her own head, the Mighty Nein come for her, and Yasha is finally set free.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Yasha, Obann & Yasha (Critical Role), The Mighty Nein & Yasha
Comments: 14
Kudos: 170





	a bridge, and not an end

Yasha can feel it burning on the back of her neck: a round sigil of interlocking chains and metal that tethers her and occasionally flares like a brand being pressed to her neck. It sparks and shrieks, and she feels her blood stirring in response, raging to the surface as her arms lift the Magician's Judge up high and swing down with brutal accuracy.

She's never really sure what exists outside the brand, since it's so hard to think around the way it claws at her mind and burrows deeper into her bones. She can hear voices, sometimes, that alternate between screaming or whispering. Sometimes, the voice is voice is bubbling and hopeful and blue. Other times, the voice is deep and sonorous and reverberates through her in a way that stalls the brand from crawling deeper inside her.

Most of the time, the voice is Obann.

Obann doesn't speak to her much, but when he does, she listens. Obann is her companion, a comrade in arms, her _ friend._ Whatever he does, he does for the greater good, and whatever he asks, she will do. She is an instrument, and his will is her own.

“Yasha, be a dear and take care of this vermin that insists on standing in our way.”

_ With pleasure. _

“It looks like our friend has decided not to cooperate. Yasha, remove him from my sight.”

_ Whatever you say. _

“An entire library of unhelpful fools. Well, it looks like they want to do things the hard way.”

_ Of course. _

The sword swings, and shrieks fill her ears, but the sound of Obann’s voice turns them to mist that slips away unnoticed.

Usually her vision is dark, except for when her sword is awake and alive and blood is splattering the earth. The other times, she can see Obann's face, red and grinning. His smile curls into something sharper, more violently edged, as he pats her gore-splashed arm and tells her how proud he is, how well their plans march along, how happy she must be to finally be back where she belongs. 

There is another figure that looms behind Obann as he speaks to her, sickeningly huge with skin that twists and tears into fanged, laughing mouths. A thrill shoots down her spine instinctively from looking at it, and when the monster turns to look at her with gaping maws bursting from its skin, ready to devour her in awful, tearing bites, she dimly feels herself reaching for her sword. Her heart trembles, but not with fear. There is thunder in her veins and lightning in her eyes, and _ she will be free of this thing – _

Obann frowns, and with a starburst of white hot fire the brand sears through her mind again, clawing away her vision and her thoughts.

She rest there in the dark, listening to the echo of far away thunder. Or it would be rest, if she didn't feel so pulled apart and chained down at the same time. Distantly there is the sound of some sort of commotion, some raised voices and angry shouts that she can't even begin to parse meaning from.

The harsh, insistent tapping on her face brings things into focus a little better. Obann is glaring at her, face flushed maroon and tail lashing back and forth.

"Did you do this?" he hisses. 

_ I don't know what you're talking about. _

Obann grabs her chin and forces her to look where he's pointing. His clawed fingers dig into her skin and threaten to draw blood, which brings the world into focus in a way it hasn’t been for so long. "Did you and those idiotic terrors chasing after you do this?"

Yasha makes out the slumped shape of the many-mouthed creature collapsed alongside a rotting grey log. She doesn't know what terrors Obann is referring to, or why the Mouth is so limp and lifeless, but the storm rumbles approvingly in her chest, so she smiles.

Obann looks like wants to claw her face off, but when his hand snaps out his sharp fingers graze across the brand burning on her neck. He stiffens, then yanks his hand away and settles for tracing a glyph in the air that sends her hurtling back into darkness. 

The rolling thunder sounds like laughter that is so different to that from the now silenced Mouth.

There are flashes after that, the briefest moments allowed to pierce through the veil pulled over her. More splashes of red, more sacrificed bodies dropping to the blood soaked earth as Obann searches for some way to make up for the loss of his immortal servant. Yasha can't keep up with it all, but she does know that she's crying whenever she's allowed to look out. Obann always shuts her back away with a wave of his hand and a flash of the sigil. 

It's getting harder to look out each time. The brand is coiled around her bones, her nerves, her muscles. Every passing second it seems to push in further, chaining her to itself with callous efficiency. There's less and less room for her to breathe, if she even can anymore.

Every time she wants to give in, let the sigil overtake her entirely and just let go, the lightning inside her heart flashes, and the storm tells her No. _ Hold._

_Look. _

When she blinks and looks out this time, it's different.

Obann is nowhere near her like he always is, guiding her hand and pointing her towards the next slaughter. This time, though the outline of the landscape is grey and fuzzy, she can see other shapes blurring through in bursts of light and sound that push a familiar red winged figure far away from her. At her side, two small green and blue people have grabbed onto her, yanking her backwards like they're trying to separate her from her friend. 

Yasha feels her heart lurch, and she pulls away from the hands touching her with enough force that she might have snapped their fingers. Thirty feet away, she can see Obann's familiar smirk as he calls out for her to protect him from these attackers. 

She stumbles forward, shaky on legs that she hasn't had to pay much attention to before. Obann is her friend, her instructor, her leader. She has to help him.

"Ugh! Snap out of it, Yasha, we're trying to get him away from you!" 

_ Why would you do that? _ She doesn't know if she whispers it or screams it, but there's something about that voice that reminds her of the hesitantly hopeful one she heard in her head so long ago. 

She thinks the blue one tries to say something else, but she is already charging after Obann, who is pinned to the ground by a mound of dirt resembling a cat's paw. As she watches, three blasts of verdant green energy shoot into his chest, and Obann howls as they burn into him.

A part of Yasha whispers, _ now you know how it feels, _ but she keeps running forward. She heaves her greatsword, all senses focused on the three figures she can see clustered around Obann on the ground. 

_ Get away from him! _

Before she can leap forward and cleave the one that smells like the sea in half, a wall of fire explodes in front of her, shooting up towards the sky and cutting her off from her target. Her hands fly up to shield herself from the sudden heat. Through the fire she can hear the sound of fists impacting with flesh and Obann's howl of pain that accompanies the snap of bone. 

"That's for Yasha, you fucking piece of shit fiend!" That voice is angry and heartbroken, although she can't imagine why. She just knows that she has to get to him before it's too late – 

"Sorry about this, Yasha!" 

A crossbow bolt embeds itself deep into her upper thigh, and her leg gives out beneath her. The sudden shock of piercing pain ricocheting through the muscle turns her muscles to water and her sword slips from numb fingers. She twists around, desperately searching for where the bolt came from, but it's too hard for her to make sense of what's going on. The brand is burning, the fire is burning, and Obann...

She feels more than hears the moment when Obann dies. There's a sickening crack of a neck shattering underneath the powerful blow of a staff, and all at once the searing pain emanating from the base of her skull is gone. She is slammed back into reality, for the first time in months, and it feels like she fell off a cliff and impacted with the ground at high speed. The sensory input that had been dull and grey for...weeks? months?... blows back into full focus. The colors and sounds and sensations spin wildly, bursting in her mind like fireworks and shooting stars. It's enough to send her toppling to the ground, but even then the actual feeling of dirt pressed up against her, grinding against the soft skin of her cheek, is more than she can tolerate. 

She thinks she might be hyperventilating.

Colorful faces blur above her, the blue one from before pushing through them and shoving its way in front of her.

"Holy shit, Yasha, is that you in there?"

"Back up, Jester, give her some space." There's the other blue one, with the fists and heartache. 

_ What is going on? _

"What was that? Sorry Yasha, it's kind of hard to tell what you're saying." 

"She's breathing really fast, she's not dying, is she?"

"Hold on, I might have something for that."

A cascade of pink floats in front of her, such a sharp contrast from the dying browns and greys she is used to that it almost hurts. 

"Don't want you to hurt yourself, Miss Yasha. This will help you calm down..."

The voice is deep and soothing, but when a hand touches her shoulder and she feels the first tingle of magic brush against her mind, Yasha startles violently. Before she can think about what she's doing, she snatches the thin wrist and twists with all her strength until she feels bone snap under her palm. Whoever's arm she just broke lets out a startled yelp, and the magic abruptly fades away. Almost immediately, the panic rushes back in again and she sees black spots sparkle in her vision. 

"Fuck, okay, Jester, help Caddy with that."

"I-it's fine, I think I scared her. I don't think she knows what's happening right now."

"Then what should we...?"

A figure she hadn't seen before crouches behind her, smelling of smoke and ash. In a lightly accented voice, he says, “I’m sorry, Yasha,” then sprinkles a pinch of fine sand across her face.

She is swallowed up in the unimaginable weariness that follows as her eyelids slide shut. A magical touch pulls her back into the dark, but it’s her own exhaustion that keeps her there as she finally falls asleep.

There are flashes again. This time, though, they are natural pauses in an otherwise dreamless sleep. She blinks, and she is laying in the back of a rumbling cart, her back pressed up against someone’s legs while a small hand runs through her hair. Whoever is driving the cart is humming a wordless tune, and it’s more comfort than she’s experienced in a long time, so she lets herself drift off again to the sound of the voice and the rocking of the cart.

The next time she blinks, the ground has fallen away, and she’s being carried by her arms and legs across the threshold of a warmly lit building. 

“Careful, Fjord, you’re going to drop her if you keep shifting her around!”

“Sorry Jessie, you’re better at carrying things than I am…”

Large hands supporting her shoulders shift, and she can tell that whoever is moving her inside is struggling to keep their grip. It only takes a second for them to readjust, and the solid feeling of being held tight relaxes her enough to drop off again.

The third time she wakes up feels different. The heavy push of magic convincing her to shut her eyes and fall away has dissipated, and her head feels significantly less like it’s filled with clouds. 

She is wrapped up in a warm blanket and laying on something incredibly soft that eases the strain of her neck and spine for the first time in what feels like years. When she moves her head to poke out from the blanket, she is relieved to find that the room is dark, which mutes the onslaught of sensations she has to readjust to. Through the dark, she can make out fields of painted flowers dotted on the walls in a way that steals her breath away for just a moment. 

For a second, if she imagines hard enough, she can pretend that she is laying in that field, free of all thoughts and fears. There is wind in her hair and petals in her fingers, soft and smooth and sweet. Nothing pressing down, nothing strangling and choking her until she can’t move. 

Yasha pulls her arms free from the blanket tucked around her, easing off some of the tightness building in her chest from being restrained.

“Oh – Yasha, fuck, you’re awake!”

She looks down. The woman from before, in blue with the fists, is curled up in a ball on the floor of the room… Beau. 

“Yes,” Yasha says, and this time she can hear it. Her voice is hoarse and shredded, almost unrecognizable. 

Beau pulls herself up off the ground and sits on the edge of the bed, almost pressed into the space left where Yasha is curled up on her side. Her hands hover over Yasha like she’s not sure what to do with them if they’re not curled into fists. 

“How...uh, how are you feeling?”

Yasha isn’t really sure how to answer that. Her head feels better, but the rest of her aches all the way to her core. She opens her mouth, not entirely certain of what is going to come out, when Beau cuts her off with a wave.

“No, sorry, that’s a stupid fucking question, of course you’re not feeling great.” Beau presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and groans. “Sorry, this isn’t the welcome back I wanted to give you.”

“What happened?” 

Beau freezes. “What do you mean?”

“I was fighting – ” Yasha moves to prop herself up on her elbows, but her arms are shaking and won’t support her weight. With a quick movement, Beau helps her down onto the bed, supporting her neck so she doesn’t bang it against the headboard. For a moment, her warm calloused hand is pressed against Yasha’s cheek, and she leans into it instinctively. Beau hovers for a moment before pulling away.

“Hey, don’t push yourself, there’s no rush. You’re back here with us.”

“But what…” Now that she’s laying down again, the exhaustion is back. It’s all Yasha can do to keep from slipping away, but she needs to know what’s happened since she’s been gone.

Beau sighs, pulling her knees up to her chin but still managing to balance on the edge of the bed. “Fuck, Yasha, I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning sounds good.” Yasha shuffles around a bit, burrowing deeper into the mattress but keeping her gaze steadily locked on Beau’s bright blue eyes. Beau barks out a laugh that is hoarser than it should be, but nods in agreement.

“Okay, well, it pretty much started when we all fought Obann in Bazzoxan and killed him, do you remember that?”

Beau spends the next half hour or so telling her what had happened over the past few months, from the Mighty Nein’s efforts to pull her back from Obann and the Laughing Hand, their exploits in the Happy Fun Ball to find Yussah, what they knew about the Angel of Irons, and their last explosive attempt at rescuing her after destroying the Perma-Heart. 

Through her story, Yasha tries to stay focused, but her mind keeps drifting off into the dark places where she waited when Obann didn’t need her around. She traces her fingers over the embroidered roses and leaves along the edge of her blanket. The subtle brush of thread and fabric helps bring her back to herself.

“...And then I killed Obann by finally breaking his neck with my staff. You probably already know this part but you freaked out when the spell ended and we tried to calm you down. You actually broke Caddy’s arm, but it’s okay, Jester healed him right up, and to be honest it was kind of fucking cool that you can break bones with your bare hand.” Beau’s voice trails off a bit. “And then, yeah, Caleb put you to sleep and apparently your brain thought that sounded like a great idea, so here we are in your room one day later.”

Yasha inhales slowly, and then exhales. “That is a lot.”

“Was that too much? Fuck, sorry.”

“No, it was…I wanted to know.” Yasha meets Beau’s eyes, which are just a touch wet with tears she is sure Beau will deny. “Thank you, Beau.”

Beau lets out a shuddering breath as well when Yasha says her name. “Yeah, well, we weren’t going to just leave you with that creep. You’re part of the Mighty Nein, you’re our _ friend, _ you’re…” She hesitates, then lets her shoulders slump. 

She scans over Yasha and Yasha has the distinct feeling that she’s being evaluated.

“You look tired as hell. Come on, let’s get you back to sleep.” Beau moves like she’s going to stand up and leave, but Yasha catches her hand and clings to it before she can think about what she’s doing.

“Will you stay?”

Beau pauses, then smiles in a sad way that Yasha’s never seen her do before. “Yeah, Yasha, of course I’ll stay.”

She stays, still holding Yasha’s hand and brushing her thumb across her bruised knuckles, and Yasha goes back to sleep.


End file.
